


The Temptations of Domesticity

by hellostarlight20



Series: Days of Domesticity [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas Shopping, F/M, Romance, Smut, smutty romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas shopping for the family. It doesn’t exactly go as either the Doctor or Rose think. But it’s not their normal running or saving the world. It’s far more intimate than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the six weeks since the Game Station, Daleks, Bad Wolf, Immortal Jack, and _Rose_ , the Doctor had vacillated between crushing guilt and unfettered joy. He was beginning to feel slightly mad (slighty-er madder if he was honest with himself, which he tried never to do), with the change in emotions, the peak of the mountain and crevices of the valleys of his feelings.

One thing remained constant: Rose. And all he felt for her, the entire encompassing range of emotions that lined those mountains and valleys. He needed her like air; he wanted her more than he had anything else in his too-long life.

She terrified him, with the way she’d taken the Time Vortex into her to save his worthless hide. But she petrified him even more when she’d initiated a telepathic bonding link between them.

His hearts nearly exploded from his jumper-clad chest when she told him she loved him.

Now, as they wandered through Delarux Minor’s market place, he wondered what she’d like for Christmas. A scarf seemed trite and certainly not what one gave a woman who risked everything—her life, her humanity, her soul—to save him.

Rose’s hand squeezed his, and he turned to look down at her. She smiled shyly up at him, her eyes somewhat troubled.

The Doctor cursed. He ran his free hand over his shorn hair then dropped it, useless, by his side. He really needed to remember to keep his mental barriers up around her.

Since merging with the Heart of the TARDIS, Rose’s telepathic abilities had gone from slightly empathic to full-scale telepathy. At least through the bond she shared with him. She was still training; no one learned everything about telepathic abilities in a mere six weeks.

And thankfully she couldn’t read any other species. Or no more than her instincts had always done. That’d be almost too much for her, given the struggle she had with maintaining her barriers around him.

He’d been furious when he realized she’d initiated a bonding link while in the midst of all her vortex infused glory. For about five minutes.

But if nothing else, the Doctor was practical. Or could be practical. Or could be practical given enough time to berate himself and wallow in guilt and pity and crushing grief that he’d destroyed the one beautiful light in his life. And, though he truly hated being honest with himself, he could be practical if he took the time to do just that.

Rose never would’ve been able to forge the link if he hadn’t been receptive. If he hadn’t wanted that with her so badly he may _(may)_ have started forging the link with individual threads of all he felt for her. And if those threads wound together, strengthening, every time he took her hand and touched her, well…

He was a Time Lord caught desperately in the eddies and whirls of a woman he quite literally didn’t know how to live without. And when it came to him, Rose read him like an open book.

Then again, he thought as he smiled and sent a wave of reassurance through their bond—Rose had always been able to read him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hair whipping around her face as she studied him.

He raised his hand again, this time to brush a lock of hair behind her ear then searched for one of the hair clips she was forever putting in his pockets.

“Thanks.” She grinned up at him and pulled back her hair, leaving the pale column of her throat visible and tempting to his gaze. “What’s wrong?” she repeated.

“Nothing.” He only half lied.

Including torture by Daleks, there was no way he’d tell her he didn’t know what to get her for Christmas. The Doctor debated whinging about spending Christmas with Jackie and Mickey, but knew she’d see through that in a heartbeat.

He didn’t mind spending the holiday with her family, per se. He simply didn’t want to share Rose. Their relationship had come so far during their insular, and all too short, time first on the TARDIS then on the planet Doga’gr, then back on the TARDIS.

Just the two of them.

The Doctor craved their intimate time together. Just the two of them. Racing hand in hand, laughing, making love. Affirming their connection together without the scrutiny of others. However, a part of him (the barely-stable part) realized that he _could_ share her. He now had very nearly an eternity with Rose Tyler. It would be selfish if he didn’t let her family spend time with her; spend the holidays with them…while she still had them.

The Doctor nearly couldn’t contain the unfettered joy—they now had forever.  
It went hand in hand with the devastating guilt—everyone she loved would die long, long before her.

Instead of voicing his fears, his guilt, the Doctor pulled Rose deeper into the alley and pressed her against the wall. Cradling her head from the rough stone, he kissed her. The force of it shocked even him, but as her taste exploded along his senses, he realized how much he needed that. Needed her.

“Better?” she breathed, heart racing as she leaned into him. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, the word the lightest of breezes across the skin of his neck.

“Rose.” The word caught in his throat.

Clearing the lump of emotion—of love and need and thank you and forever—the Doctor pulled back. One hand cupped her cheek, and she leaned in, eyes closing as they did whenever he touched her so tenderly.

“Let’s go Christmas shopping,” he said after a long pause, enjoying the feel of her warm cheek against his hand.

Not as exuberant as he’d wanted, but even he heard the sentiment coating those words. It wasn’t an offer of shopping. It was an offer of _together_.

With a soft smile Rose held out her hand. “I’m not sure what to get Jack,” she admitted as they rejoined the crowds on the main street, easily weaving through them.

When Rose shopped, it wasn’t a ‘let’s stop at every single stall and carefully examine each and every item’. The Doctor could only thank Jackie for the bargain hunting way Rose went through merchandise. One swift yet careful eye across the tables, over shelves, along those things hanging to tempt the customer, and she knew whether she needed to move on or peruse further.

So they debated presents for Jack—a hypervodka distillery (no—not in my ship!) or an 87th century pillow book with 167 different aliens for the adventurous human (the Doctor thought he’d already had it or at the very least was the inspiration for it).

And as they debated, they wove through stalls and streets and across a good portion of the Western Market. In less time it took him to sort through some of the junk shops in hopes he could find parts for the TARDIS, a feeling of peace settled over the Doctor.

Peace and Rose and her hand in his. Together.

“How about his memories?” Rose had stopped dead in the center of the street near one end of the market.

Guiding her to the alcove near a stall, he didn’t immediately know what to say. Around them, the wind blew and beings from a hundred different planets mingled and shopped in the midmorning warmth, lost in their own little world.

“You can do it, yeah?” she asked, quieter now.

“I can,” he agreed. Then shrugged. “Probably. But memories are tricky things, Rose. And Jack might not want them back.”

She opened her mouth to ask why. The question burned over their bond like lightning, but she closed her mouth with a snap and nodded.

“He’s a different man than he was, is that it?” her voice was lost in the wind, but he heard her clearly enough.

“When we first met him, you trusted him,” he reminded her though his jealousy flared brightly. He wasn’t quick enough to block it, and Rose grinned.

She took his hand, thumb caressing his knuckles. Her eyes lost focus and her entire body took on the air of a woman—his woman—concentrating. The Doctor recognized her look and opened his mind to her touch, her mental caress.

_I love you_ , she told him. The force of her words nearly knocked him back. Rose didn’t do anything by half measures.

“I think I’m getting better at this,” she said, not shaking nearly as much as the first couple times she’d tried to send words instead of emotion.

“Rose Tyler.” Her name caught beneath all the things she meant to him. All he wanted to tell her, all he felt for her.

The Doctor cleared his throat and took her hand in his. Where it belonged. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised gruffly. “Just remember, he might not want them back.”

“He might not.” Rose nodded. “Or he might.” She shrugged. “It’s up to him, I know. Just promise you’ll ask. He might want to remember the man he was before he became the man we know.”

He nodded. Unable to say no to her. Or maybe unable to say no to something so big when it came to Jack. Despite the distinct wrongness of the man, the head-splitting pain the Doctor experienced when he so much as looked at him, Jack was a friend.

And the Doctor didn’t have many friends.

Again, Rose seemed to pick up on that, and she turned from the alcove. Hand still clasped around his, they began a slow walk toward a park with food vendor stands set every 20 meters or so beneath brightly striped umbrellas.

Did he want to relearn how to keep his barriers high and intact? Or did he want to let them drop around her, open all he was and wanted to be, all he’d done and all he’d regretted, guilt and blame and remorse blackening his soul?

“Tell me about them,” she said as they stood in line for local fruit drink.

The Doctor scanned the offerings, ruled out one of the more exotic beverages only because he didn’t know what it’d do to Rose’s new physiology, and dug in his pockets for change. He was certain he’d kept the local currency handy since they were coming here to Christmas shop.

“Who?” he asked. He already knew _who_. Stalled for time as his brain—and his heart—scrambled for footing.

“Any one,” she said calmly. Softly. Head on his shoulder, hand squeezing his, love and trust and understanding and a burning need to be there for him enveloping him like her body did. “Just one. Someone you traveled with…before.”

Before… _I’m the last of the Time Lords. They’re all gone. I’m the only survivor. I’m left travelling on my own ‘cos there’s no one else._ Before… _There’s me._ Before her love and her compassion and her understanding.

Before Rose.

His hand shook as he withdrew the coins for their drinks. With memories and pain and hope. Rose had given him that hope. Yes, he thought as they stepped forward to the front of the line. He remembered that with Rose there, he quite liked hope.

She squeezed his hand as he paid and reminded him, _There’s always me._

“K9,” he said and guided her to one of the benches lining the park. “Met a professor on an asteroid and he gave K9 to me when he returned to Earth—couldn’t bring him back because of his weight. Not enough fuel.”

Talking about K9 Mark I had him talking about Leela. Which had him talking about Andred. And before he knew it, they’d finished their drink, the sun was high overhead, and they were eating a late lunch at a small restaurant Rose had spotted earlier.

And he was telling her about Ramona over a quiet, intimate meal for two.

“I’m sorry.” She reached across the small table and squeezed his hand.

He wanted to be flippant, wanted to shrug it off. The Doctor nodded, throat closed on any more stories. He’d talked more about his past in the last few hours than he had in his entire life. Draining the last of the light luncheon wine, he pushed back the chair and stood.

Rose looked up at him, eyes damp with unshed tears and soft with compassion for him. He wanted to tell her he didn’t deserve her tears or her compassion. He’d killed millions. And millions more by not destroying the Daleks when he’d the chance to stop their evolution.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, voice husky. “You were the only one brave enough to stop…all of them.”

“Rose.” He wanted to correct her, wanted to show her the pain and suffering he’d caused. The murder he’d committed.

He didn’t. He locked those memories away, deep, deep in his mind where she couldn’t see them. The way she looked at him, the way she squeezed his hand, the way she leaned her head on his arm as they slowly walked out of the restaurant told him otherwise.

She knew. And for reasons he might never know, Rose Tyler still accepted him.

“Come on,” he said abruptly, regret and the painful, rending knowledge that there hadn’t been another way coating his words. “Let’s go shopping.”

They stepped out and to the right, Rose’s hand in his. Always in his. She leaned her head against his arm and slowly, oh so slowly, he felt himself relaxing. It’d been good to talk to her about old friends. About good times and bad and all the times in between—the running, the life he’d led and the lives of all that had crossed his path.

Talking to Rose had brought them back to life. Reminded him of those he lost on a deep, visceral level—but also reminded him that he’d known them. They’d been a part of his life and were a part of him even now.

They walked for a bit, up and down streets, occasionally stopping for something that caught Rose’s eye. He relaxed, her touch a balm to his burning skin. Her mind a light caress to his screaming emptiness. The faint scent of her arousal as they touched and were simply together; a tempting seduction to his senses.

They turned down yet another street where a variety of scarves blew in the wind. He suddenly remembered a conversation they’d had two days ago. Rose’s admission of arousal at being even slightly dominated. Her tentative plea for more.

Rock hard, his body out of his control at the memory, the Doctor steered her toward the stall.

He’d get her a scarf after all.

The light-blue skinned woman nodded to them as the Doctor held up a dark blue scarf made of the finest Andorran silk. Light as a breeze across the skin, they were also incredibly durable. He ran the silk over Rose’s bare arm, watched her shiver. When her eyes opened, they were darker, heavy with passion. Rose swallowed hard and nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

Without looking at the woman, the Doctor said, “We’ll take one in every color.”

As the shopkeeper hummed happily to herself and gathered his purchases, the Doctor leaned down so his mouth just brushed Rose’s ear. She shivered in his arms. Arousal scented the air, potent and all Rose, clinging to her skin. He grinned.

“Go find a directory,” he told her, voice as low as possible, each word a caress. “We’ll finish shopping first.”

Rose whimpered and shook her head.

His finger brushed down her throat, over her breast. Through her shirt and hoodie, he felt her nipple, already hard and begging for his touch.

“Oh yes,” he said, voice rough and dark. He took the blue scarf he held and ran it over her exposed neck.

“Doctor.” She leaned into his touch, but he pulled back.

“Go find a directory.”

_Before I tie you to our bed and don’t let you leave the TARDIS for a week._

Eyes still heavy with lust and bright with love, she reluctantly stepped from his arms and turned toward the end of one of the lanes. When she’d gone no more than a dozen steps, the Doctor let his barriers completely fall and showed her exactly what he wanted to do with the scarves.

Naked, arms tied above her head, legs spread to his touch, his gaze. Arousal lighting her body on fire, as she begged. Pleas tumbling from her lips. Open and wanton and completely unashamed. His.

Rose stumbled as he sent her the image along their bond. Even from this distance, even though they weren’t touching, he knew she was slick with arousal. He heard a faint “Fuck yes” from her.

But she didn’t turn around, kept walking as quickly as she could without running.

The Doctor quickly paid for his gifts and hurried after his lover. When he found Rose, ostensibly looking over the computer kiosk at the end of the street, her fingers were pressed tightly into her jean-clad thighs and each breath was a shaky inhalation.

Scanning the lists, he took Rose’s hand. She sighed at the contact and turned into him.

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” she asked, head against his shoulder, both hands clasped tight around his. Her breath was harsh and he felt her pulse racing along her inner wrist.

He pulled back just enough to see her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Rose beamed at him and stood on tiptoes to press her lips to his. “Me, too.”

Before the kiss could deepen, he spun her round and pressed her against the terminal. She bucked against his hips, her bum grinding into his painful erection. With one hand he shoved the wrapped silk scarves into his pocket. The better to hold her.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, voice low and even, heavy with hope. Want. “The image you sent. Did you mean it?”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard and exerted considerable control not to take her against the stupid computer terminal right there.

Her words, spoken in the breathlessness of orgasmic aftermath as she curled against him from that day two days ago, their last on Doga’gr, echoed sharply round his brain. _“I liked it,” she admitted. “Everything you did. The…the waiting and listening to you. Not coming until you said.”_

“Do you still want this?” Just in case. Just to be sure. “Play, even light play like this, requires a lot of trust.”

“I trust you.” Rose looked over her shoulder, met his eyes. Want and interest, and just the faintest hint of anxiety swirled in her gaze. “Completely.”

The Doctor brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and spun her round. One hand cupped her cheek, the other her bum. Uncaring that they were in the center of the street by a busy computer directory, he kissed her, a hard press of lips. His tongue swept through her mouth and Rose whimpered and sighed, opening fully to him.

“Hurry up then,” he said gruffly. “I want to tie up my Christmas present.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was more open with her mind and soul than her body and fantasies, and Rose didn’t understand why. NSFW with slight BDSM play. You’ve been warned.

Rose licked her lips nervously. She knew what she’d said about wanting to try this. And she wanted it. Oh, she wanted it.

“It’s not that I changed my mind,” she said to her lover as he watched her from the foot of the bed where he stood, naked and aroused.

Oh God was he aroused. Rose licked her lips as she stared hungrily at his hard cock. With effort, she dragged her gaze back to his.

Being able to communicate telepathically did a number on verbal communication. It was just so much easier to send the Doctor her feelings—love or affection or laughter or frustration and feel his soothing voice over every single one of her enhanced senses. It was, Rose now realized, easier than talking things out.

They’d been intimate for less than 2 months and that time, Rose had learned to build her mental walls and to send and receive feelings. Once in a while, either because of great anger (like the time on Doga’gr when he’d tried to leave her behind while he went off time find out who was bombing the village they were staying in) or great passion (nearly every time they made love) she managed to communicate entire words.

Not now, arms tied above her head, naked on their bed and wanting him so desperately though he’d barely touched her. She couldn’t manage to speak entire sentences to him telepathically now, though Rose knew he understood her feelings.

“What is it, then?” the Doctor asked.

He wasn’t rude or condescending or dismissive or impatient. She heard it in his tone, in the way his eyes watched her. Even if they hadn’t shared a telepathic link, Rose knew she could tell him anything.

Everything.

Every secret and deepest fear. In fact, she’d purposely not hidden anything from him when they began practicing her newfound telepathic skills. She’d thrown every door wide open and guided him through every memory he’d cared to examine.

“You can tell me, Rose,” he said quietly. In answer to the doubts she hadn’t yet spoken—didn’t know how to verbally express.

Then he moved from the foot of the bed where he’d stood. Crawled, oh God did he look magnificent as he _crawled_ up the bed, all animal grace and predatory power. Rose licked her lips again, straining against her bonds—not to escape. Never that. To yield. To touch and taste and bring him into her body.

This had nothing to do with nerves and absolutely everything to do with the animalistic beauty of the Doctor crawling up their bed, eyes steady on hers, his entire being focused solely on her.

She forgot what they were talking about.

One large hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. Rose shivered and leaned further into his touch, nuzzling his palm for a moment.

Bad Wolf had given her a lot to be thankful for. Decreased cellular decay, increased mental acuity for the bonding telepathic link she’d unknowing forged with the Doctor. Absorbing the Heart of the TARDIS, joining with her to save their Doctor, opened limitless possibilities.

It had not, however, given her any more sexual-confidence than she’d already possessed.

“Rose.” He waited and she finally looked up at him. “Do you want to wait?”

She immediately shook her head. “No,” she insisted, confident in that at least. “I want this. I want to do this with you, Doctor. I want to…to experience all this. I trust you, Doctor, more than anyone. I want to explore with you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong?” His voice was low, dark and seductive but coaxing for all that.

She swallowed again, a bolt of arousal heating her. Maybe she should just throw all her inhibitions away and open her legs to him. If that wasn’t an invitation, she didn’t know what was.

His laugh was as dark as his gaze, brushing across hard nipples and wet heat. Her brain short-circuited and she gasped in a breath.

“I do want you to open your legs,” he said, his other hand brushing down her naked body. A light tease that set her nerve endings afire. “I want you utterly open to my gaze, my touch.” The hand on her cheek moved to cup her chin, fingers firm and inflexible as he tilted it up. “My cock.”

Rose whimpered. She forgot how to form words. Or why they were necessary.

“But.” The Doctor pulled back and she whimpered again. “I want you relaxed. I want you to trust me. I want you to want this…” again his voice dropped, his lips brushed her mouth. “As much as I want this.”

“I do,” she breathed, her sex aching now.

Her heart pounded and blood rushed in her ears. Excitement and arousal and nerves and surrender bubbled through her and she took a deep breath, but all she smelled was the Doctor, the tang of his scent, the flavor of his arousal. Rose’s tongue flicked out as if she could taste that scent. Wondered if he could with his extra senses.

“I trust you more than I trust myself.”

The Doctor frowned and shifted. No longer did he straddle her or touch her, and with quick fingers he untied the knots from the silk scarf holding her wrists in place. Rose tugged her hands from his before he could untie the knots around her wrists.

She felt silly—naked and aroused and oh so wet for him. And scared. Even as she yanked her wrists from his, it wasn’t because she didn’t crave his touch; it was because she didn’t want him to undo the scarf. To stop what they were doing.

“Talk to me,” he said, one hand again lifting her chin. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Rose didn’t know how to put her fears into words. It wasn’t that she was afraid of this, of his dominance, of giving up control. On the contrary, the very idea made her want to beg him to do it. Just do it—now, right now.

She _wanted_ to feel his hand on her arse, spanking her. Yes and she knew he understood her feelings on that. She _wanted_ to hover on the edge of orgasm as he took his time teasing her. Wanted to feel his cock in her mouth, learn how to take his thickness deeper than she was currently comfortable with.

Craved that, all of it, with a deep, pulsing hunger she’d never admitted to herself.

And therein lay the problem.

“I…” she trailed off and sat up. She could tell him anything. Everything.

Taking a deep breath, hands tied before her with the erotic slide of the silk scarf he’d bought her and her wetness coating her thighs and her nipples aching for the Doctor’s touch, Rose knelt before him and bared her last secret to her lover.

“I want this,” she admitted, and the words caught in her throat. “God do I want this. I want it—I want all of this so much I can’t think straight. But I’m afraid.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak but she quickly shook her head. “I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me.”

Just the thought of a little pain with her pleasure made her whimper again and she knew, _knew_ he smelled her arousal. Felt it pulse along their bond. The Doctor’s eyes darkened again and a rumble of what sounded like her name moved over her skin.

Rose moaned. Opening eyes she didn’t remember closing, she shook her head and forced herself to give him honesty. “I’m afraid I’ll pull back,” she whispered. “I’ve never admitted…until two days ago, I couldn’t admit…” she swallowed. “I want this, Doctor,” she confessed.

And the image of him and them and all she’d dreamed about made her whimper. “I’ve barely admitted to myself how much I want this,” Rose breathed. “I know you don’t—but Mickey. He never knew. He…I never told him any of my fantasies.” 

She paused and swallowed and some of her fear—not fear trepidation maybe; yes, trepidation and nervousness and anxiety but not fear, never fear, not with her Doctor—melted at his touch.

“I don’t want to back out. I want to open myself to you—this and us and all of it—but I’ve never…I mean I.” She stopped and blew out a breath.

Words were so very difficult. She didn’t know how to express herself, not in this, at least.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said. But the slow, wicked smile that curved his lips told her differently. That smile spread an equally wicked thrill through Rose. His next words only confirmed it and she pressed her lips together to keep from moaning.

“Not just for the pleasure of your pain at least,” he promised.

His hands cupped her face and he brought her forward, mouth tender on hers. “Rose, we can go as slow as you’d like. I know you’ve no experience with this form of play.”

“But that’s just it,” she said, and suddenly felt her nerves dissipate. “I want it.”

“We’ll go slow. You remember your safe word?”

Rose nodded. He’d made sure she had one she was comfortable with—they’d had a good laugh over it, joking back and forth to ease the seriousness of the conversation. (They discarded the Dryosaurus Dinosaur, TARDIS, and Jack— _Absolutely not, Rose! He’s got no place in our bed._ ) 

They finally settled on K9. They’d just discussed the Doctor’s former robot dog and using him as her safe word seemed appropriate. Especially since Rose couldn’t foresee a situation where she’d _ever_ say K9’s name during sex.

The Doctor’s long fingers combed through her hair to cup the nape of her neck. She arched into his touch, mewling over the simple contact. The more he touched her, the more she wanted him to touch her.

“We’ll start slow,” he promised again, his voice ragged. “Today I’ll tie you up, all right?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, opening all her senses to him. “And tomorrow?”

She wanted more, wanted so much more; she wanted to open herself to everything he had to teach her and all she knew she could take. But didn’t want to pull away and disappoint both him and herself.

“Tomorrow, Rose Tyler,” he said and the promise in his voice shuddered through her.

His lips brushed over the corner of her mouth, along her jaw to her ear. He kissed the soft spot behind her ear, an erogenous zone she’d been unaware of until him. Rose shivered at his touch, sighed his name, relaxing further into him.

“I want to see your pale arse pink from my hand.”

“Yes,” she whimpered and let go of the last of her nerves and opened herself fully to her lover’s touch.

“You said in the kitchen you liked it when I wouldn’t let you come.”

His breath brushed the shell of her ear, cool and arousing. The palm of one hand brushed over her nipple, took her breast in his hand, his fingers rolling the already aching point between them. Hard, as she liked it, then harder, pinching and tugging until she moaned and whimpered his name.

“Yeah,” she said again, the word trailing off in a gasp of need.

“Do you want that?” The Doctor’s voice was still low, dark, husky, each word melting over her.

Then he tugged harder on her nipple and Rose gasped, cried out from the pleasurable pain. She didn’t speak, couldn’t. But a primal, visceral part of her surrendered to her lover and agreed to what he said. Everything he said.

She didn’t need to speak her agreement; it throbbed along their link, through her to him, the arousal, the need, the _Yes Doctor yes. Please yes._

Rose spoke anyway. “Yes, Doctor,” she breathed.

“All right then.”

He pulled back and she stumbled forward, desperate to feel his cool touch on her hot skin. His hands were gentle as he steadied her, but when he spoke next his voice was hard. Not harsh, but firm.

Rose shuddered again.

“Rose.” She opened her eyes and sought his. “I won’t push you. Not this time. We’ll go slowly. But you can’t pull back. You wanted this.”

He waited and she nodded, managed a strong, “Yes, Doctor.”

“Do you trust me?”

“With everything I am,” she said, her heart, her soul, in the words. 

The lines around his blue eyes softened and he leaned down to kiss her. It wasn’t long enough, wasn’t deep enough, simply a press of lips to lips.

A promise.

“Are you still nervous?”

Rose shook her head. All her unease vanished with his concern and trust and just being _him_. “No,” she promised. “I’m never afraid with you.”

With quick movements, he re-tied the scarf to the headboard, waited until she nodded again, and returned to the foot of the bed. Rose watched him, hungry for his touch. Her fear had utterly dissolved, and she now lay before him—his touch, his body.

No longer did nerves thrum through her, but the steady beat of her arousal. Her sex pulsed with every beat of her heart, wet and aching to clench around her lover’s cock.

The Doctor’s nostrils flared and Rose spread her legs wider, uncaring of the wanton position she lay in. She wanted him to see her wetness—it was all for him. He growled and the sound went straight through her.

“Doctor,” she moaned. “I need—please.”

“You’re only to say _Yes, Doctor_ or _More, Doctor_.” He paused and she watched him swallow hard. “Understood?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she breathed, heart racing, lungs struggling for breath.

She wanted him. Her body literally ached for his touch. The pulsing-pounding-throbbing need crashed through her. Coated her senses with the Doctor’s arousal and her body with hot, wet need and their link with submission.

His cool fingers slipped through her wetness, teased her folds. It was a light touch, nothing more. Rose whimpered but dutifully remained silent. Her hips jerked against his hand, desperate to push his fingers into her.

His other hand landed hard on her hip, not enough to bruise, just enough to still her. To remind her he was in charge.

“You want this,” he reminded her.

“Yes, Doctor,” Rose managed.

Why had she been so scared? Surrendering to him like this filled her with—Rose didn’t know. Need and power and though she was submissive to his touch, his pace, obedient to her lover, she was neither meek nor cowed.

“Don’t move unless I say so,” he ordered.

“Yes, Doctor.” The words rolled off her tongue easily, far easier than forcing her body not to respond to his touch.

She was already wet, her body already begging for him. As his fingers brushed over her wetness, Rose tried not to curve into his fingers, his body. She tried to stay still as the Doctor thrust two fingers into her, then a third.

“Already so wet for me,” he whispered against her hip as his fingers moved in an entirely too leisurely pace.

“Yes, Doctor,” Rose managed.

“I can smell you,” he said, lips caressing down her hip, along the top of her thigh. “You’re always wet for me, Rose.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Doctor.”

Don’t move, she wasn’t to move. It ran like a mantra through her mind. _Don’t move—my Doctor—please-please-please._

Her inhibitions vanished with his touch. With his mouth on her skin and his long fingers deep inside her. With his words.

He licked the inside of her thigh, so close to her wetness, Rose jerked into his touch. He stopped moving. “What did I say?” he demanded, eyes stormy and blue and mesmerizing.

Rose licked her lips, apologies and pleas and she didn’t know what crowding her mouth. But she swallowed them all down. Part of her wanted to disobey him, if only to feel his large cool hand smack down on her arse. But she heard herself say “Yes, Doctor,” in a voice she didn’t recognize.

It was breathless and compliant. Rose lowered her gaze, down her body to where his fingers were frustratingly motionless in her, but still there—stretching her, curled inside her to the exact spot that teased her. He didn’t move. He waited—fingers inside her, one hand on her hip, his gaze a burning blue flame on her.

Rose raised her eyes to his and waited.

“Don’t make me punish you,” he said in a voice that wrapped around her like dark chocolate.

The promise in his words sent a flood of arousal through her. Rose was under no illusion he didn’t feel the moisture coating his fingers. Or scent it in the air. His tongue flicked out and she knew, with a soul deep knowledge she’d know for the forever they now had, it excited him as much as it did her.

“You’d like that.” His voice was silk now, as smoothly erotic as the Andorran blue silk scarf currently tied about her wrists. “You want me to punish you.”

It wasn’t a question, but despite the blood pounding in her ears and the way his fingers slowly, oh so slowly curled within her, Rose knew he waited for an answer anyway.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Hunger, pure predatory hunger shifted his face into something she’d never seen. Her nipples ached in hard points of need. Her body clenched around his fingers. It was a look Rose hoped to see on his face for many, many days to come.

The Doctor didn’t answer but the low, dark chuckle flowed like a caress over her skin. Rose whimpered. She couldn’t read him and didn’t know if that was because she was incapable of being this open and aroused and still maintain any semblance of telepathic cohesion or if he purposefully blocked his thoughts.

“More, Doctor,” she begged, wanting the special link that connected them open once more.

His eyes darkened further and his fingers finally, _finally_ moved. His control weakened just a bit, just enough for her to feel the way he craved her. The warmth of her body, her scent, the taste of her so aroused and uncontrolled. The pleas falling off her tongue.

And the promise of more. She felt it along their bond, saw it in his gaze—that hungry, powerful gaze that pierced her. He wanted this, wanted this dominance over her more than she realized. It sent a heady surge of power through her. It wasn’t dominance over just anyone. It was her. All her. Always her. Only her.

“Yes, Doctor!” she cried, her control over her body slipping with each thrust of his fingers. With the way he twisted them inside her, just so. Enough to send a clawing need rushing through her. Never enough to push her over the edge, but just enough to drive her to new heights of desire.

Suddenly he stopped. Rose wept in protest, only able to sob out, “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor.”

His fingers, sticky with her juices, trailed up her body. Rose didn’t care. His fingers twisted one nipple hard and she bucked against him, control gone.

“What did I tell you?” his voice was rough and low. She shuddered and gasped and were those words coming from her? The begging _More Doctor, Yes, Doctor_ words that filled the air.

“Don’t move, Rose.” His teeth closed over her other nipple, a sharp bite that tore a cry from her throat. “Is that not what I told you?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she sobbed but somehow forced her body to still.

“I’ll not warn you again. This is your first experience with this,” he said and his voice was gravely and rough and Rose whimpered again. “I promised to go slow and I will—but don’t disobey me.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she managed.

Her legs spread wide, wanton and open and she didn’t care. Her nipples ached from his touch—and she wanted more. And her sex, her sex _throbbed_. She wanted his fingers back inside her, wanted his mouth to taste her. Wanted his cock to fuck her.

She said none of that, but knew she hadn’t the ability not to send all those thoughts, those visions, those glorious visions of him inside her, to him.

“You want me to taste you?” he asked and settled between her legs.

Rose sobbed. “Yes, Doctor.”

“You smell divine,” he said and ran his tongue over her swollen sex.

_Still, stay still, don’t move._

“More, Doctor.”

“So wet, so aching. You liked my fingers in you, didn’t you Rose? Teasing you, stretching you.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her even wider before him. Unable to move, Rose looked down her sweat-slicked body to him. He watched her over her body even as his tongue licked her most intimately. His thumbs opened her lower lips and his teeth just grazed her clit.

“More, Doctor,” she begged, fingers tight around the scarf.

It was her only means of controlling her body, of staying still as he ordered, holding tight even as her body shuddered and clenched. Even as she sobbed out his name, begged for more.

The Doctor pulled back. Panicked, Rose bit off words. Had she moved? Had she said more than she was supposed to? Her mind buzzed with need and her body burned with it but she’d promised to listen to him, to obey him. Not because he ordered it or demanded it.

Because she wanted it.

He waited, fingers a light caress over her legs, the back of her knees then up to her belly and the underside of her breast. She pulled in a ragged sob, a plea of “Doctor”—of _more more more_.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, fingers a feather light touch on her, not thrusting in, just teasing her. “You’re so wet for me, so desperate you can hardly talk.”

She didn’t miss the satisfaction in his voice. It twisted her need harder, tighter, higher, more more _more_.

“Yes,” she sobbed, sucking in deep breaths. “More, Doctor. More.”

“Shh, love.” His hands, fragrant with her scent, so large and cool, brushed her hair from her face. Rose hadn’t even noticed it the strands clinging to her damp cheeks.

She saw him properly now—jaw clenched, eyes the color of the ocean during a storm, body tense. She licked her lips, the remembered tasted of his cock in her mouth a temptation she could barely resist and she swallowed convulsively.

What would it be like, his cock in her mouth, his fingers in her body? Rose shuddered and wanted that more than she could say.

“You’ve been a good girl, for your first time,” he said, mouth gentle on hers.

Rose only whimpered, “Yes, Doctor.” She licked her lips, tasted herself there. “More, Doctor.”

The words hurt to say, not because she didn’t want them, oh God did she. Because her throat closed up and her body throbbed. She wanted to cry and scream and beg—words she’d never said before clogged her throat.

_Fuck me, hold me still and fuck me into our mattress. Make me come, make me come until I see stars. Until my body can’t move. Until my voice is hoarse from screaming your name._

She didn’t say those words, but he must’ve understood them nonetheless.

The Doctor knelt before her his cock thick and hard and pulsing. The little white ridges ringing the base stood out starkly against the flushed skin of the tip. Another flood of desire rushed through her—he enjoyed their game as much as she. Wanted her as much as she wanted him.

With one smooth thrust he entered her and she saw stars. Cool fingers gripped her trembling thighs and hiked them high on his hips and then he moved.

“Yes, Doctor!” she cried out, bound wrists straining against the restraints.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up as he pounded into her, a restless, ruthless rhythm that spread through her. Whatever slight relief she felt when he entered her, coiled tighter and tighter as he moved.

Rose wanted to touch him, wanted to scrap her nails down his back and bite his shoulder as he pounded into her. All she could do was cry his name and grip the scarf tightly.

He leaned over her, hands fisted in the elaborate scrollwork on their headboard. She forced her eyes open and to his, saw the darkness there, but the need—it ripped through her and despite the desire literally trembling through her, Rose wanted nothing more than to hold him close and ease that darkness away.

“Doctor,” she chanted, breathless and hoarse and please please _please_.

“Come for me, Rose,” he panted and changed angles just enough.

She let go of the last shred of her control and screamed, shouted his name and came hard. Her orgasm ripped through her and crashed over her again and again and still he moved. Thrusts growing erratic and harder and his fingers dug into her hips and still Rose wanted more.

With a strangled cry he came, too, his cool seed washing through her and she whimpered, thighs tight around his hips, body straining to touch his.

Rose didn’t know when he moved, only that the first thing he did was untie her wrists. His long fingers massaged hers, stiff not from his expert knots but from gripping the headboard so tightly.

She laid her head on his chest where his double hearts raced madly beneath her ear. She couldn’t move. If a Slitheen invaded or a Gelth appeared or her mother marched through that door, Rose absolutely could not move.

“You mum better not march through that door,” he growled. But it was with far less horrific conviction than normal.

Laughing weakly, Rose tried to summon the strength to say something in return. All she managed was to press her lips to his chest and close her eyes. Her body hummed and sang and she sighed contentedly into the Doctor’s embrace. She fell asleep to his fingers brushing down her back and up again, only to curl around the nape of her neck and stroke the skin softly.

When Rose opened her eyes again, he’d moved, shifting her so that she lay atop him. He looked at her with that soft look of love in his gaze, the emotion so strong she didn’t need the words. He brushed her hair back and cupped her cheek with one hand, thumb brushing her skin.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asked.

He was shut down now, closed off. She couldn’t read him telepathically and his voice was as neutral as if he negotiated with a band of rebels over the release of some captive. But she knew him, oh she knew him.

Rose leaned closer and kissed him. She didn’t care the room smelled like sex, her arousal clung to her skin, or sweat had cooled on her body. All she wanted was the Doctor’s arms around her and his mouth pressed to hers.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Heat flared in his cool blue gaze and his hand tightened on her hip.

“I trust you with all I am,” she admitted with a slow grin. “And I want more.”

“Well then, Rose Tyler. Your wish is my command.”


End file.
